


genius

by errichii



Category: Evillious Chronicles
Genre: Character Study, College, One Shot, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 23:19:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12493136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/errichii/pseuds/errichii
Summary: is it a guiding spirit, or is it her own head?  [inspired by pixelized's 'Solitude', one-shot]





	genius

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pixelized](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixelized/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Solitude](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12450192) by [pixelized](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixelized/pseuds/pixelized). 



_"No great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness."_  
-Aristotle

* * *

The words begin like this, and already, she knows that she had gotten in.

 

 _Dear **Miss Levia Barisol,**_ came the formalities, floating in her head like clouds. Each letter holds its recipient dear or dearest, unless there should be an earth-shattering event that would cause the writer to abandon all terms of formal endearment and forget writing the name altogether. _It is with great pleasure that I write to offer you admission to the University of....._ and she closes her eyes before folding it up to have it join its folded up brothers and sisters among the pile. She need not read no more; that was the last, that was that, and she laces her fingers through her short golden hair to tighten her already loose hair-bow.

 

Seventeen applications, seventeen approvals. Beautiful number.

 

 _No,_ she was not old enough; _yes,_ six years are her entire life, thank you very much. Her teddy stares at her and she stares at it back - has it not been her constant friend? It doesn't speak, but she imagines that it would be proud of her _("Oh Levia! Seventeen! Take your pick, congratulations!)_ ; she changes its name so much. It is the 67th rename.

 

She sits down on her bed and hugs it while giving a good look at the pile.

 

Every university, every college, every higher institution of learning are different from each other, and yet so similar. They write differently, yet they mean the same - when they _appreciate your interest,_ you have been rejected, and when they bring you news of _great pleasure,_ you have been admitted. Fairly simple and a matter of words.

 

 _It is with great pleasure_ that they write to offer her, six-year-old Levia Barisol, admission to their university.

 

People will tower above her, just like how her mother towers over everyone, in her smart-looking high heels and her weekly styled hair. Week one, curls. Week two, rebonding. Week three, dyed. Week four, in a neat bun. How her mother towers over her throughout her six years of living is not strange anymore; deputy director, psychiatrist, mother, woman of the night. They see her as her mother's daughter, and she thinks the same.

 

There is no method to her madness, there is no secret behind her genius - it's all hereditary, full stop.

 

And love is love, because she loves her mother and her mother loves her. Who is her father? She doesn't know. Mommy is smart, so she must be too. Rare embraces between mother and daughter after long days at school and work exist, yet Levia smells different scents on her mother's clothes each time. Mommy changes men like how she changes her hair, so it's no wonder that when she had asked the innocent question of: _"Where's daddy?"_ , Mommy couldn't answer. Certainly, it wasn't because she didn't want to answer, mind you - it was because she was thinking precisely this: _"Which man?"_

 

Expectations, expectations - the world is laden with them, and Levia, surprisingly, does not even _try._ Effort without talent versus talent without effort, which one of them will win?

 

Neither, if they go up against the _genius_ of a person.

 

That's who she is as a person - a genius in the flesh. Institutions of higher learning grab at her with figurative hands, and they ask: _"How? How? Your brain, how? Do you study hard, girl? Do you spend the whole day studying? Your motivations? Your dreams? How, at your young age, can you accomplish what the older ones can, or cannot?"_ And then they learn about her mother, the brilliant woman of the night, and they say: _"Ah."_

 

Mommy towers over her, but she cares not, because her answer has never been: _"I am Mommy's daughter."_ Instead, her answer is always this:

 

**_"Everything's really simple."_ **

 

Suddenly, with that, she is no longer her mother's daughter, but a force to be reckoned with. The people who will tower over her will shrink as they will stare at her, gawk at her answer, and feel fear. Fear of what, the unknown that is her brain? Fear of what, the unknown that is the thing that makes her brain far more superior than theirs? Suddenly, Rahab Barisol's hold on her daughter is released, and Levia Barisol, six years old, stands short and alone before the world.

 

Hear me, she thinks. See me, she thinks.

 

What they fear is what they don't know.

 

Thus, what is genius? What is the meaning of what she possesses that universities are dying to have her in their campuses? What is the meaning behind seventeen acceptances and buttered-up words to hopefully charm her into choosing them? Pick me, they seem to say, and Levia gets up from her bed to stand before the folded letter pile, as if to pick which toy she wants from the store. Which doll is best? Which dress would look better on her? Which pair of shoes will make her day?

 

Which one of them will be graced with her presence?

 

And suddenly, she becomes a princess because of her knowledge, but where does the knowledge come from? From Mommy? No. A genius isn't necessarily born from a smart woman and an unknown man - it does work that way sometimes, but not all the time.

 

In a book that she had read once upon a time, while she was waiting for a consultation session, she recalled a certain text pertaining to the very term itself: 'the genius was the guiding spirit or tutelary deity of a person, family, or place.' A muse, then? A fairy, to enchant her brain, to make her know why the sky is blue, why birds can fly, and why do people behave the way they do? Why do people smile, why do people frown, why do people cry? Why do people kill, why do people love, why do people fall to laziness? Why are people hopeful, or hopeless?

 

In that case, this fairy ought to be incredibly inquisitive, because it only provides her more questions than answers.

 

The answer that lay before her now is this: she will go to the place that will make her question far more than she has questioned ever before, and that will answer all of those questions without hesitation. Her fairy will make her ask and understand, and that place, that chosen university, will tell her everything and unmask the mysteries of the world, and of people. She will spend her years there standing short and sure among people who will tower over her in height, but equal her in mind. She will be like Pandora, selecting which box will unleash more, and more for her, and she will choose the box that can never be closed.

 

Is it a guiding spirit, or her own head?

 

Probably, it is both.

 

So when her mother comes home that night, she gathers the letters close to her heart, and she takes her teddy along with her. She turns on the lights and pours two glasses of water on the dining table, and she smiles. She seats the teddy on one chair, and she takes her mother's coat before thrusting the folded letters to her at precisely three in the morning on a bleak Monday.

 

 _"Seventeen_ letters, Mommy!" Levia laughs gaily. "Help me choose!"

* * *

I want to know, _know,_ _**know.**_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much, pixelized, for making the wonderful 'Solitude' fic! This fic isn't anything much, but I hope that it's okay! Please support all the amazing fics on this archive, and thank you!


End file.
